


Speak Low

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Series: Don't Speak [2]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Regret, non Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it all boiled down, everyone always described Alex Reagan as “nice” in one way or another. But the nicest people are just as dangerous, as everyone in Pacific Northwest office comes to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Low

**Author's Note:**

> Beware the nice ones.

She’s tired, jet-lagged, and pissed off. And here he is before her waving his skepticism, talking down to her. All she wants is for Strand to shut up. She’s had enough; of all the lies and secrets and bullshit he keeps trying to feed her. But he keeps talking, now he’s sorry, and he tries to touch her. She backs away. She tells him to stay away, but he doesn’t hear her. He reaches out again.

“Alex, I’m sorry-“

Something in her snaps. She feels something crack beneath her fist. She falls forward, her knees hit the floor with a thud, sending pain signals which she ignores for screams. Screaming fills her ears and all she sees is red. But as soon as she falls, she is pulled up and dragged away.

She doesn’t see red anymore, just the baby blue walls of her little office and the faces of Nic and her interns. They’re worried, the interns stay on the other side of the room. Nic is the only one brave enough to be at her side. He’s rubbing her shoulders - just like her dad would do when she was little and she’d fallen from the tall trees she tried to climb. The interns – there’s three of them, all women in their 20s- are huddled in the corner casting worried looks over their shoulders. They look at her with pity. Sometimes they look at her with worry. If there’s one thing she hates in this world –besides a certain doctor- is unneeded pity.

_Is she okay? Is she prone to violence like this? Oh Christ what if Strand sues us? He wouldn’t dare try. But what if-? Shut it. Keep your voice down. We don’t need to worry her any- Oh fuck is her lip bleeding?_

That gets Nic’s attention, her’s too. She touches her lip. It stings like a sunovabitch and she hisses. The tallest intern grabs a compact mirror from her bag and brings it to her boss. Her lip is bleeding, bruised too; black, blue, yellow and green stain the right half of her mouth. Nic and the intern start cursing. Despite their anger, they all speak low for her sake.

“What are we going to do?” one intern whispers. They look at her for guidance. They always do. Even in such trying times they always go to her for advice. She takes in a deep breath– her lungs hurt, did Strand get her ribs too?- she has a job to do and she’ll see it through. If Strand tries to stop her, she’ll aim her next punch lower.

“First I’m going to clean up. And then we’ll wrap up the episode. The show must go on.” She says slowly. She does her best to keep her voice level and low, keeping up the visage of the steady leader. The seasoned warship captain, she will not go down.

She rises from her seat, they back up, like servants to their queen. Nic offers his shoulder for her to lean on, the interns offer to help her get ready. She smiles, and politely turns them down. Bless their hearts.

An intern hands over her bag, and she takes unsteady strides to the bathroom, making sure to skirt the room where her little outburst occurred. She was not ready to face Strand. Not yet.

The bathroom was empty save for a few gossiping interns. They were quickly dispersed with a single glare. She balances her bag on the sink’s edge, and looks into the clean mirror.

The harsh light highlights the worst of the bruising. Her hair is sticking out at all points. Her eyes are red and puffy. She looks like shit, but she’s worked with worse. This was childs play. She could fix it.

She never figured Strand to be a boxer, but at this point of her life, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was. She fished out her makeup bag-- a little vinyl bag with pink flowers splattered across the surface that faced years of intern work and high school dances-- and dug out her foundation and corrective concealers. She looked at her reflection. The bruise mocked her, a culmination of her believer status, the very thing Strand despised.

Now I know how Hester feels, she grimaced. She sighs and begins her work. She washes her face with tap water, using a paper towel (for shame her mother would say) to dry her face. She has to use all the colors of the palette to tone down the bruises. And finally, the foundation. Carefully, with thoughtful strokes of the brush, she paints over the badge of her shame, like an artist painting their magnum opus.

She steps back from the mirror and admires her handiwork. There are errors, but only a pro makeup artist would be able to pick them up. Her mask would hold for a few more hours, long enough to get her back home in one piece. That is, if Strand didn’t shatter it a second time around.

She preens some more, smoothing out her blouse, combing out the fly aways, and straightening her skirt. She doesn’t feel like a daring reporter, more like a disgraced warrior, but for a bang-up job, she could’ve done worse. This will do, she reassured herself. She sent a mass text to Nic and the interns

Meet me at my office. Keep Strand in the waiting room. We need damage control and assessment. Go.

When she strides into her office, she finds everyone packed into her tiny office. Everyone one is whispering amongst each other, even the intern packs that usually hate each other sit next to one another. But they all share the same expression on their faces- worry and fear.

_What are we going to do? We got an injured Strand and a pissed off Alex how are we gonna-? We saved the recording we can salavage-! If only Strand kept his mouth shut. If only Alex didn’t punch him. He had it coming. The bastard had it coming. He has himself to blame. But she punched him. He insulted her. We can claim self-defence. We got witnesses. But Strand has a fortune- He can shove it up his ass if he tries to mess with Alex, we’ll fight to defend her- She can take care of herself. Clearly…_

The whispering comes to a halt when she announces her presence with a small and humble cough. Heads turn like spooked owls. One intern looks like they might have to go to the hospital for whiplash. But all eyes are on her. And she knows they are ready for her orders.

“Damage assessments.” She says low, still not comfortable to speak up. But it earns the desired effect, an intern with her hair in a neat ballerina bun and a clipboard in her arm rises from the sea of her peers. Her eyes are hungry for a chance to prove her worth.

“We stopped Strand’s bleeding. No broken bones. He’ll be needing new glasses. But we gave him some pain-killers to ease the pain.” She states curtly.

“Where is he?” Alex replies.

“In the waiting room. He’s sleeping” The intern says with a sneer. It takes all of her self-control not to snort.

“Post someone to keep an eye on him. He stays there until we need him.”

The intern makes a note and she sits down. Another intern – one that works with Nic with editing stands up.

“We managed to save the recording. It’s rough, but we can fix it and record new audio once everyone is ready.” This intern is not as sure as the previous one, she wrings her hands and avoids looking up. She breathes easier when she’s back with her company. Alex doesn’t keep her and continues down the line of info and paperwork.

They can save the episode. But they can’t save her and Strand’s pride, what little of their friendship remained, or their dignity. That she’ll have to do on her own.

She disperses them with a simple command, get to work. Nic stays behind. He does not share the expressions of the interns, he is more puzzled than afraid.

“Alex how in god’s name do you think you’re going to fix this?”

Her lips are smiling. Her eyes are not. He notices this, but he refrains from commenting on it. 

“I don’t know. But I’ll see to it. Don’t worry about me Nic. Just trust me and help me keep this project afloat.”

He only nods and leaves to join the interns in the studio. Alex lingers in her office, her eyes fixed on the decorations on her office wall. Her degree from Washington State, pictures taken during her internship at PNWS and college days (the one with Nic and the college’s radio club makes her smile), a medal, two trophies, and countless other photos from her childhood. Her entire life is summed up on the walls around her. She’s moved all this one too many times for her liking, she refuses to move it again.

Her phone beeps, it’s one of the interns.

_Strand is awake. He’s right where you left him. He’s asking for you._

Alex takes in a deep breath and sends up a long overdue prayer to any higher powers listening before leaving the safety of her office. She didn’t get this far from playing it safe and becoming a welcome mat. But as she makes her way to Strand, she swallows her pride. She can speak low when she had to. Now, more than ever, she hopes Strand will do the same. 

 


End file.
